Anak ng Araw
by mille feuille marzipan
Summary: Even as the boy looked like he was dying, Alfred saw his eyes still shine like the sun. America in the Philippines after the Japanese surrender.


**Genre: Anime/Manga****  
Category: Axis Powers Hetalia  
****Summary: Even as the boy looked like he was dying, Alfred saw his eyes still shine like the sun.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or it's characters, with the exception of the OC representing the Philippines**

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_Bayang magiliw, perlas ng Silanganan, alab ng puso, sa dibdib mo'y buhay._

Oh God, he could already hear Spain's voice in his head, threatening to mutilate him beyond recognition if he didn't find his little brother in one piece.

Alfred looked over the shores of the coast he had just landed on that early-September afternoon. Having been given a proper map, his blue eyes scanned over the ink-color-coded map of the country. By what one of the soldiers had told him, he was in a Western Visayan province called Iloilo and—God_damn_, that was_ far_ from the States… Word had reached his ears that the Japanese forces had already been pushed into isolated pockets right here in Mindanao and over in Luzon. Cebu, Panay, Negros and other islands in the Sulu Archipelago had been taken back successfully.

By what he remembered, Philippines would have given him a toothy grin and laughed at his horrible pronunciation.

He hadn't seen the boy in quite a long time. The American remembered the first time he met the Southeast-Asian nation, when he had been asked to "babysit." Apparently, Spain was very, _very_ protective of younger sibling, whom he had raised by all himself before being tasked with Romano. At that point, he had to leave the island nation to himself, only visiting occasionally.

Somehow, the situation proved very familiar. Perhaps that was partially the reason why Alfred had taken such a liking to him.

His maturity and wisdom really contradicted his young appearance, which made him question Spain's initial need for a babysitter in the first place. The boy explained that his people were like that with their children—Spain just caught the bug, becoming paranoid about his safety as well.

When the child had been ceded to him in 1898, the tan-skinned boy was feeling the tension his people were emitting. He showed a cheeky attitude and tended to act like quite an overconfident brat. But he was still a good kid. He had his moments where he cooked a meal as an apology. (And _damn_, his cooking was good…compared to England's, at least.)

Before he knew it, the younger nation had caved into his people's restlessness. War had been declared by the Malolos Congress—God, he was seriously not Asian enough to pronounce all this crap—and Philippines was thrust into the battles. He could not believe it when he had first heard it. While he sat in the chair of his office in D.C., he imagined a child who looked no older than ten, wearing a helmet that was too big for his head and wielding a machete. Were those guys _nuts_? Frankly, Alfred was one of the few Americans who opposed the war. Let them have their freedom, for God's sake! Can't they see this was just like what happened with England?

And then, he had been run over by Kiku and the Japanese army—on the same day as Pearl Harbor, no less! Seriously, Alfred felt like punching something. Maybe Germany and his freaky-eyed, insane, bushy-mustached boss (because heroes always go for the top).

"Is there something bothering you?" a heavily-accented voice asked. The blonde turned around to face with one of General Douglas MacArthur's Philippine aids—what was his name again? Damn, he forgot—wearing a concerned expression. Much like the others, his clothes were dirty and his face was tired, shadows already starting to appear underneath his eyes.

"Ah, no." he replied nervously, "Just a bit skittish, y'know?"

"You are worried about José, am I correct?" Alfred stared at the man in shock. How could he have known? Laughing, the man replied, "Even with his rebelliousness, he's very attached to you."

Oh, right. Now he remembered—his name was Raul Gonzalez. He was one of Philippines' human caretakers. (Mature he may be, but he's still a child by human standards, and he tires easily nowadays. It must be from all the constant fighting.)

"Is he?"

Raul nodded, "Definitely."

From a distance, the cry of 'Manong!' could be heard. The two turned their heads to see a young soldier with unruly dark hair running towards them. Catching his breath, he handed Raul a letter he had been carrying. The aid straightened out the paper, which had been frantically crumpled into the messenger's hands, and quickly scanned over the words. After finishing, he raised an eyebrow and started to question the soldier in the main dialect of his region. (He heard they were from central Manila.)

"Sumuko po sila. Nanalo po kami." were the words he caught. (Alfred had to wonder how the _hell_ they could say all that so fast.) Raul nodded before sending him off. He turned to the American and relayed the message in English.

"They've surrendered. We won."

_Lupang Hinirang, duyan ka ng magiting, san mamlulupig, di ka pasisiil._

"I'm sorry; he's _where_?"

"Alburquerque. Just call it Albur."

Alburquerque—the fifth class municipality in the Bohol province. Fun fact of that day was that Albu-whatever had a _hell_ of a lot of pythons. If it weren't for the fact that Philippines was still technically missing, Alfred would have shown his childlike amazement.

From what they had gathered around the former prison camp, he had been taken to the nearest safe-building, which had been a cathedral, after they retrieved him from a prison camp. The two asked some of the civilians who were at the same camp if any were with him from before. One of them, a middle-aged man, told them that he had only seen him during The March. Raul's face paled at the mention of the event, while Alfred furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

As they made their way to the island province, Alfred asked Raul what exactly 'the March' was. Looking down, and sighing ruefully, he started to explain, "That man was talking about the Death March in Bataan."

"Death March?" The blonde repeated incredulously with wide blue eyes. The aid nodded.

"Yes. After the fall of Bataan, many American and Filipino prisoners of war were forced to march sixty-three miles to another prison camp, without halt. They would be beaten if they fell, forced to get back up on their feet and continue walking. They died of starvation, exhaustion, and if they survived that, they would simply have died in the camp." Raul put his face in his hands, breathing deeply to quell his fright of simply retelling the facts, "José had marched along with his people."

Hearing that, Alfred had to wonder how the tiny commonwealth _survived_ the pain from his people, as well as the direct injuries he sustained from Kiku's men.

"He's…okay, right?"

The Filipino shook his head, "I don't know. He was in dire need of medical attention when they had liberated his camp. No one has heard of his condition since."

"Christ." He spat out under his breath. Raul raised an eyebrow. Realizing his rudeness, he quietly apologized to the man. He forgot that the majority of them were Catholic. 'Never use the Lord's name in vain' or something like that. He wasn't that much into religion, so he wouldn't really know much on it. Despite the little mistake on his part, worry and panic started to overtake him—it didn't change the fact that they needed to find Philippines and they needed to find him _fast_.

"Mr. Jones. You're trembling." Alfred hadn't noticed until it was pointed out. The aid put a firm hand on his shoulder, "If he sees you in such a state, you'd be the constant subject of his teasing."

'If he lives,' the American wanted to add. He couldn't find himself saying it, however. He doesn't want to jinx it. He'd often hear of talk about former nations, such as the Roman Empire. Philippines was young; Alfred didn't want him to pass off before he had a chance to rise. He wanted to believe that Philippines will be alright—that the cocky little monster would harass him about being a mother hen.

"We are close to Cebu." Raul stated, looking in the distance. Turning his head forward, he saw the faint outline of land. They were getting there. Cebu was close to Bohol, by what he remembered, so it shouldn't take much longer, "José will be fine; I assure you."

He really, _really_ wanted to believe that.

But the dark speckles of body bags on the shore weren't helping much.

_Sa dagat at bundok, sa simoy at sa langit mong buhaw, may dilag ang tula at awit sa paglayang minamahal._

The few days of travelling from the northern area of Cebu down to Albur—_hah_, he finally got it—had been unbearable. It wasn't because of the conditions. It was because Alfred was becoming like the non-European version of Spain, getting paranoid about Philippines' unknown health. The American barely got any sleep, if any. Damn brat was taking up most of the space in his every thought!

(Oh man, that sounded wrong. Whatever, he wasn't France. Unlike France, he doesn't go about molesting arrogant little punks.)

"We've arrived."

He felt the boat hit the sand and accidentally jerked forward, falling out of said vessel. Embarrassed, he hefted himself upwards, dusting the small grains off his face. Renato gave a small laugh as he got out of the boat as well.

"Come. We shall ask around the district." He said, pushing him forward gently.

As they entered the district, Alfred immediately noticed the hushed whispers the people were exchanging as they passed by. Whether it was because he was very fair-skinned, or because of their military uniform, he didn't know. Raul halted a few people and questioned them briefly on the whereabouts of the boy-nation. While he did that, the American looked at the ocean behind him, and the cloudy skies above it. He wasn't as superstitious as England, but he couldn't pass off the chill down his spine…

"Mr. Jones." Alfred jumped in surprise and whirled his body around. Raul, along with a young man, stood behind him, "This boy knows where José is. He will show us the way."

Blue eyes lit up as he eagerly followed the young man, who introduced himself as Renato. Renato was a high school graduate, who was fortunate enough to have been able to escape to the mountains in during the occupation. Once word had reached him of the Allied victory in the War, he wasted no time in making his journey home. He was actually only passing by Albur—his true home was in Cavite. (Unlike what the other countries say, he can catch onto things quickly. He happened to figure out what the questions and basic answers translated to along the way.) However, even during his short stay, he managed to have heard of a child that was being treated in a church nearby.

The towering form of old graying stones was soon in sight. The walkway to the entrance was decorated by two palm trees, which almost bent towards each other to form a natural archway. They walked to the front doors briskly, but not too hastily.

Renato pushed the wooden doors open quietly, as not to be disrespectful. This was a holy building, after all. A nun and priest spotted them from the altar across the church. The nun looked fairly young—probably in her late teens. The priest was also not that old. He looked slightly younger than Raul, who looked about fifty, give or take. They made their way over to them. Renato took the priest's hand and bowed, bringing the hand to his forehead, with Raul following suit. Alfred felt out of place, not knowing what to do. He simply inclined his head.

"To whom do I owe this visit?" the priest asked in English. He must've done it so Alfred could understand…

"Father Pulumbarit," Raul started, "this man is looking for someone. We believe that the one he is searching for is in your custody. Is a boy from Camp O'Donnell sheltered here?"

The priest put a finger to his chin in thought before nodding, "Yes, now that I recall. Sister Helen will show you to his chambers."

Sister Helen bowed to them before turning on her heel and slowly walking out of the main church. The three followed, while Pulumbarit strayed to the altar in preparation for the next service. He didn't have the heart to tell them about the boy's condition…

"Heavenly Father, help us…"

_Ang kislap ng watawat mo'y tagumpay na nagniningning; ang bituin at araw niya, kalian pa ma'y di magdidilim._

"He is here."

"Thank you, Sister."

Sister Helen bowed to them again before excusing herself. Once she was gone, Alfred nearly threw the door open with his inhuman strength.

The room was small when they entered. There was a table with a candle on the top surface, a drawer, a chair, and finally a bed—with a certain tan-skinned nation lying down on it, eyes closed.

"Philippines!" Alfred rushed over to his bedside instantly, heart racing, "Philippines? Hey, Philippines!"

He grew extremely frantic when he received no response. It wasn't even about Spain's threats anymore. This nation—this boy—doesn't deserve to die just yet. The blue-eyed American grabbed Philippines' limp hand and held it tight.

"C'mon, you cocky brat, I know you're alright!" he said loudly as if it would come true if he said it with enough confidence, "Nope, you're not fooling anyone! I bet you you're smirking inside and—Oh God, please just wake up!"

His voice started to shake, and he felt the small prickles of tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes, "Philippines, seriously! Spain's worried about you; _I'm_ worried about you! You can't just pass off like this! Just open your eyes and—God, why aren't you waking up yet!?"

Raul and stood by in silence, his eyes averted from the scene. Renato was mildly confused about why the American would refer to a child by the name of their home country, but kept quiet. Some things were better off not knowing, and in a time like this, it would be extremely inappropriate to ask. Alfred fell to his knees as he shakily brought José's hand to his forehead with his eyes shut tight, starting to cry and plead.

"José, you damn brat, wake up. For the love of God, wake up, please. You can't die. Open your eyes and call me an idiot already. Say how much my accent sucks, how I'm too empty-headed, how I didn't know where Japan was, how much of a pansy I am crying like this—Just please, _please_, don't die; don't you _dare_ die, José!"

He felt the twitch of a finger against his forehead. Opening his eyes, he lifted his head and watched the nation's mouth twitch upwards as he quietly and hoarsely said,

"Okay… Idiot."

José's eyes opened feebly. Alfred could only stare at him in shock, tears still running down his eyes. The island nation weakly said, "Dopey as ever, I see."

The North American nation made a face and sent a mock-glare to match, "Shut up."

They could hear the younger nation's breathing become slightly heavy. The blonde was about to tell him to stop talking and save his breath, but was cut off when Jose gave him what seemed to look like a grateful smile. The Asian boy tried to grip his hand.

"You came back." He said, almost incredulously as his hand slipped away from the American's.

"Well, that was what MacArthur said. Besides, I got death threats from your brother. It's not a wise thing to ignore Spain when he's pissed off, y'know." Alfred sighed, tapping the tip of the boy's nose playfully.

"So, you wouldn't have come if he didn't intimidate you into it?" José asked, his hope-filled expression dropping somewhat.

Alfred grinned his trademark grin. He finally took a seat on the chair next to the bed, placing his elbows on his knees, "Are you kidding? All the Europeans were duking it out in the West. I needed some glory in this war."

The boy laughed a bit. The American's grin simmered down to a soft and brotherly smile, much like the ones England used to wear during his colonial days, as he brushed away some of José's black hair with his hand, "Alright, you damn brat, get some rest. I need to take you somewhere when you feel good enough to go out, okay? And don't worry; I'll carry you so you don't have to walk."

He promptly stuck his tongue out at the comment. As his black eyes closed, he muttered something the American couldn't understand. But José was alright, so he wouldn't worry about it too much. He'll give him the chance to tease and insult as much as he wants. (Only for a little while, though.) The blonde finally got a good look at José after all the years he hadn't seen him—injured as he was, he looked a bit older. Now he looked like a twelve-year-old. Alfred turned around to face the two behind him.

"Thanks for your help Raul. You too, Renato." Raul gave a smile in return, whereas Renato bowed eagerly, speaking in rapid Tagalog. Alfred blinked. He may have gotten a grasp of the language, but…

"Ah! Sorry po!" the young man said, embarrassedly when he realized that there was such a thing called a language barrier, "No problem! Happy helping!"

Well, at least he found out that the graduate could speak some English. Finishing his duty, Renato said his goodbyes, saying to Raul that he needed to return to Cavite to his family. His parents and sisters were most likely waiting for him, as well as his young niece. Once he left, Raul walked over to Alfred.

"Did you hear what he had said before he fell asleep?" the aid asked. The blonde shook his head. Raul smiled again, "He said: Salamat, Kuya."

"What does that mean?"

"It means: Thank you, big brother."

_Lupa ng araw, ng Luwalhati't pagsinta, buhay at langit sa piling mo; aming ligaya, na pag may mang-aapi, ang mamatay nang dahil sa iyo._

"José!"

Antonio wasted no time in practically flying over to his little brother. José was about to return the greeting, but was beaten by the Spanish's overly tight hug. The former pirate nation had picked him off his feet, and was swinging him around while babbling nonsense. A bandaged Lovino, who had accompanied Antonio, rolled his eyes and told the man to let his brother go before he suffocated. When the brunette started to kiss his brother all over his face affectionately, the Italian had to physically pry him away to give the boy his space.

Alfred watched the scene with amusement.

With a little patience, José had been back on his feet within a matter of days. Alfred, who hadn't been heard from by the other nations in quite a long time, had used the opportunity to talk to his boss, as well as José's new boss, Sergio Osmena about taking the boy somewhere to fully recover from his injuries. Osmena gave the okay, as well as Truman. Later that night, he told the boy to pack his bags.

Raul had seen them off when they had left the island. He and José had a brief conversation—in which he could tell that Raul was being grandfatherly and telling him to behave and remember to do this and that, with the twelve-year-old-looking boy replying that he will in a bored tone. The aid patted his head before pushing him lightly towards Alfred. Raul then saluted to the American.

"Thanks again for the help, Raul."

"You're very welcome. It was an honor, Mr. Jones."

Alfred managed to get to Europe at a good time. Making a quick phone call back to the States, he found out that the negotiations were held in Berlin. Making his way over to Germany, he immediately found the building and stormed inside, dragging a confused and uninformed José inside. As usual, he unceremoniously burst the door open, startling all the European nations (with the exception of the Allies) who had previously been chatting amongst themselves.

"Delivery for Antonio Fern—Actually, your name's too long; here." He said, placing José in the Spanish man's line of vision. And thus, the scene broke out in front of him.

As that was going on, Arthur made his way over, arms crossed, "I have to admit. Your men did a decent job in the Eastern theatre."

"Told'ja we could do it!" Alfred exclaimed, giving the Englishman a thumbs-up, "And for back-ups, you guys weren't so shabby either."

Arthur rolled his eyes before looking over to the little "family." Looks like Francis found his way over to the younger nation. Lovino was trying to get over his fear enough to hit the Frenchman with a book. Antonio was calmer about it, restraining the older Italian twin, though he did warn the blonde not to do anything inappropriate.

"Now why can't you be like that?"

The Briton looked up at his former colony with a raised eyebrow, "Be like what?"

Alfred sighed, "Nevermind."

Arthur felt his left eye twitch as the American simply walked away from him. Still the same manner-less git…

"Ve, ve! Look!" Feliciano exclaimed, pointing at the window. A little light shone through. José ran over to it, as more light came, brightening the room. Antonio smiled as he watched his little brother bask in the sunlight in a child-like manner.

The American blonde couldn't help but smile, too. Even back when the boy had almost died, Alfred saw those eyes shine like the sun. He was glad that José had his chance. He hopes for a good recovery. He hopes to see and hear good things about him and his country in the future. He hopes to see the child shine.

_Land of the Morning, Child of the Sun returning; with fervor burning, thee do our souls adore._

**-End-**

The italicized words in the middle of the scenes were the lyrics to the Philippine national anthem. Just for your knowing.

Thank you for reading!


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